


Amortentia?

by Slenderlock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anderson's the Quidditch Captain, F/F, Irene is sneaky, M/M, Molly's the best friend a sad gay man can have, Potterlock, Teenlock, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenderlock/pseuds/Slenderlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine's Day is coming up, and the whole of Hogwarts is looking forward to celebrating the day dedicated to love. </p><p>The whole of Hogwarts, that is, except John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>Luckily, they have Molly and Irene to help them out- whether they know it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amortentia?

**Author's Note:**

> Some things:
> 
> Sherlock is a year younger than John, but in his classes because he's essentially been moved up a year. John's 16, Sherlock is 15. Molly is 16 and Irene is 17. 
> 
> Sherlock is in Slytherin, John is in Gryffindor, Molly is in Hufflepuff, Irene is in Slytherin.
> 
> This takes place either before or after the events of HP, I tried to make it deliberately vague.

****

“Right. And who the _hell_ is Irene Adler?”

“Sixth year, John, do keep up.” Sherlock closed his Charms textbook and slipped it into his bag, ignoring John’s gobsmacked expression.

“And you can’t come to practise tonight because-”

“Because I’ve agreed to meet with her,” Sherlock finished, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Obviously.”

“You’re meeting her. Where?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Really, John, the place of meeting hardly matters.”

“Where, Sherlock?” John demanded, as they made their way out of the classroom.

“I agreed to join her for an early dinner.”

“Dinner.”

“Yes.”

“You’re having dinner. With a girl.”

“For heaven’s sakes, John, it’s not that unusual.”

“For you, it is.”

“John, honestly, what-”

“I just don’t see why you’re-”

“John!”

Sherlock stopped short in the middle of the hallway. John, who had been tailing him closely for the past few meters, walked straight into him and dropped his bag. Sherlock rounded on him, clearly having lost his patience.

“Although up to now I’ve been convinced that your ears do, in fact, work- apparently I need to repeat myself. Yes, I asked Irene Adler to meet with me and she suggested dinner. Yes, I agreed to the suggestion. Now if you would quit harping on about the subject, I’d much appreciate it.”

“Hold on.” John bent down to pick up his bag. “Hold on a moment- _you_ asked her? First?”

Sherlock blinked. “Yes?” He frowned. “John, are you quite sure you’re all right?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” Cold fury was beginning to root itself in John’s stomach. Not at Sherlock, no- never at Sherlock- but at himself. God, how could he have been such an idiot? How could he not have seen this? Sure, Adler was sort of attractive, but didn’t she like girls? _And didn’t Sherlock like guys?_ Right. Well. Bisexuality existed, after all. He would know. But still- he’d been fairly sure that both Adler and Sherlock only swung one way. But apparently not? How could he not have known? Not about Adler, he didn’t care, but Sherlock? Sherlock was his best friend, why didn’t he trust him? Out of everyone, shouldn’t John have been the first one he’d confide in? And why didn’t he ask John before asking Adler out? _And why Adler?_ Sure, maybe she had the tall dark and mysterious thing going on- which John could certainly appreciate- but she wasn’t… that… attractive. And Sherlock didn’t usually take things like attractiveness into account-

“John?”

John blinked.

“What?”

“I asked you if you’d like to make it on time to Transfiguration.” Sherlock glanced around at the hallway, which was now barely occupied by any students. And they only had a few minutes to cross the castle.

“Oh.” John reddened. “Yeah, sorry. Just.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and hurried down the hallway. Sherlock followed, smirk present as always.

o0O0o

John stewed over his predicament for the next two hours of class. Sherlock and he were- mercifully- not sat together in Transfiguration, so he was free to sulk. However, Molly _was_ sat next to him, and she was a little more perceptive than he’d given her credit for.

“John!”

“Sorry!” John shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

Molly muttered _Finite Incantatum_ and the satin pig transformed back into a pillow, which fell onto the table with a sad little _plop._

“Honestly,” Molly huffed. “I haven’t seen you this unfocused since you figured out that the ghosts used to be people for the first time.”

“Shut up- as if you didn’t realize that, too.” John folded his arms. Molly giggled.

“Why did you think they were called _ghosts?_ ”

John sighed. “Fair point.”

Molly propped the pillow up- it was filled to the brim with feathers, which made it the perfect subject for-

_“Apis Maximus!”_

The pillowcase melted away into a set of metal bars that twisted together to form a birdcage; the feathers clumped together and quivered, becoming small parakeets that fluttered and squawked within the confines of their cage. Molly looked at her work proudly, folding her arms and looking at John expectantly.

“What?” He asked, defensively.

Molly gave another _Finite Incantatum_ and the birdcage reverted back into a pillowcase- but the birds remained intact. Stuck inside of what was essentially a fabric bag, they wriggled helplessly, shrieking as they tried to find some route of escape. Eventually one of them found the hole in the side of the case and fluttered out, the rest following after it. Molly looked forlornly at the flock of parakeets that fluttered over to Professor Hollen’s desk.

“Ah, I still haven’t gotten the hang of that one,” Molly sighed, looking at her wand forlornly.

“Hmm, you’d better,” John advised her. “It’s one of the more useful spells. Better get cracking on that.”

“Says the boy who tried to turn his pillow intoa _pig,_ ” Molly countered.

“Hmm. Fair point.”

Another pillow floated its way over to their table, courtesy of course of Professor Hollen, and John stared at it for a moment before Molly decided to take pity on him.

“Here.” She rearranged the grip on his wand, so that his thumb wasn’t tucked under his other fingers but rather resting on the side of the wood instead. “You remember the movement?”

John sighed impatiently. “Yeah, yeah. Counterclockwise circle and a half, straight down, flick up.”

“Well, there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” Molly closed her hand over his and guided it. “The first circle’s got to be slow and decisive, but you’ve got to know what you’re doing. So you can’t do it too fast, but you can’t do it too light. Think like you’re drawing through the sand.” As she said it, she pulled his hand in a counterclockwise circle, and then another half. “Like that. Now when you go down, it’s more forceful.”

John slashed his wand down.

“Good!” Molly praised. “And then the flick up-”

John slashed his wand up. The pillow in front of them burst into flames.

“ _John!_ ” Molly shrieked, jumping back as the flames began to lick their textbooks. “A-auguamenti!”

A feeble spout of water dribbled from the end of her wand and onto the flames, where it evaporated instantly. She tried again, to no avail.

“Augua-what?” John tried to repeat, and the flames seemed to dance even higher at the botched spell.

“John, shut up, you’ll make it worse!”

“ _Aguamenti,”_ a cool voice hissed, and a sudden stream of water doused the flames- and their textbooks. John looked to see Sherlock standing at the end of their table, looking largely unimpressed. With another flick of his wand, he murmured, “ _Aridicrino_ ,” and the pages were dry once more. He shot a particularly sour look at John before tugging his robes in such a way that made for a dramatic turn, stalking off to his table and sitting beside his unfortunate Charms partner of the day, Wilkes.

“Oh, well done,” Hollen crowed, nodding at Sherlock. “I daresay that’s five points to Slytherin, excellent work.”

John slouched in his chair. The charred pillow stared at him.

“John,” Molly said, quietly. John folded his arms. Molly scooted her chair a little closer. “John, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You just burned a pillow- and you forgot how to conjure up water.”

“Molly-”

“And what was that with Sherlock?”

“Molly.”

“He’s not usually in a strop like that until well after lunch-”

“Molly, it’s fine. I’m fine.” John shook his head. “Just… stuff. Happened.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Molly asked putting a hand on his shoulder, and John could have kissed her.

“I…” He sighed. “I don’t know.” He looked around the classroom, which was still full of parakeets and pillows, and shook his head. “Not right now.”

Molly thought. “Well,” she said, “how about this? After practise, do you want to stay after on the pitch with me for a little bit? We can talk then.”

John nodded. “That… yeah, that sounds good.” Because Sherlock wouldn’t be there, would he? No, he’d be off on his stupid _date._ “After practise.” Because he still had Quidditch, didn’t he? Sherlock might have ruined class for him, but he still had the sport. Nothing could make Quidditch bad, no. Practise was going to be better.

o0O0o

Practise was hellish.

“Oi, Watson, get back in the game!” Donovan shouted. John turned to retort something back at her and was met with a particularly angry bludger to the face. He slipped off his broom- which was a merciful four feet or so off the ground- and rolled on the ground, a hand to his bleeding nose.

“Christ!” Anderson, a seventh year, landed beside him and helped him sit up. “Watson, you all right?”

“Fine,” John managed, through the blood. Broken, that was it. Great.

“Here, I learned this in Charms yesterday,” Anderson began, and a wave of panic instantly surged through John. “Hold still.”

“I really don’t think this is nec-”

“ _Episky!”_

“ _Augh!”_

With a sickening _crack,_ John’s nose snapped back into place. The blood on his face instantly dried, crusting over and turning a sickly brown. Anderson frowned.

“Well, _that_ wasn’t supposed to happen,” he muttered. “Anyway. How’s your nose holding up?”

John prodded it gingerly.

“It’s… completely healed, actually.”

Anderson beamed. “Ah, good! Otherwise I’d have kicked you out of practise.” He laughed. “We’ve only got a few more practise days until the second match of the year, after all.” He clapped John on the back before looking up and addressing the rest of the team, all of whom were quite literally hovering around them.

“All right, team!” Anderson shouted, saddling his own broom and rising up into the air to meet them.  “Donovan, Watson, you two practise the Dopplebeater Defense.”

John, who was mounting his own broom, caught Donovan’s eyes, which were narrowed in a thinly veiled warning.

“Smith, Davidson, Hooper, Miller!” Anderson called, nodding to the three chasers, “you practise Parkin’s Pincer. Take turns being the chaser from the other team, I want each of you to be comfortable with every position.” They all nodded. “And when you’re done with that, I want you to do three rounds back and forth of the Woollongong Shimmy.” Smith groaned. “Oh, come on,” Anderson called. “Do you really want Hufflepuff to cream us like they did last year? Better make it four rounds.”

The chasers sped off toward the edge of the field as John rose steadily to meet Donovan in the air.

“You’d better up your game, Watson,” she said, floating a few inches above him. “Or else you can kiss your Beater butt goodbye.” With that, she soared off towards the opposite goalposts.

“All right,” Anderson called to the one remaining player. “Lestrade, you try out the Starfish and Stick that I showed you last week.” Greg nodded, and sped off towards their goalposts. Anderson turned to John.

“Don’t go too hard on her,” he said, nodding up at Donovan, who was hovering impatiently by the goalpost. “We, uh. Had a little bit of a row yesterday.”

John nodded. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

o0O0o

Attempting to hit a bludger at the same time as Donovan proved to be nearly impossible. Something went wrong nearly every time- they hit each other’s bats instead, they both missed the bludger, and on one memorable occasion, John’s bat collided with the front of Donovan’s broom and knocked her through the ring of the goalpost.

Though he’d gotten a yelling for it, it was worth it to see Molly giggling from across the field.

By the time practise was over, all of them were exhausted and ready to retire for dinner. John offered to clean up the pitch and join them later, and Anderson- anxious to fix things up with his girlfriend- hastily agreed.

“Make sure you’ve got both the bludgers in!” he called as he followed the team up the hill and toward the castle.

“I will!” John yelled back, and dropped his broom on the ground. “Arse,” he muttered to himself, and stumbled over to the stands, where Molly was waiting for him. The quaffle was sinking slowly back to earth, the snitch was tucked safely back in its compartment- because John Watson would never be a Seeker, no- and the bludgers were duking it out above the field.

“Didn’t he tell you to get those?” Molly asked, peering curiously at the dueling bludgers.

John sighed, sitting back in the stands. “They’ll tire themselves out eventually. With no one in the air, there’s no one to knock off. And they’re charmed not to hit people in the stands, so we’ve got nothing to worry about. Eventually they’ll run out of energy.”

“Oh. Right.” Molly nodded.

“There was a World Cup match that went on for about a week, back in 1962, I think,” John continued, crossing his legs. “Germany versus America. After the fourth day the bludgers got so tuckered out that they quit- so they had to put the whole game on hold and send for some new ones.”

“Really,” Molly said, smiling blankly.

“Yeah!” John nodded. “And in the end Germany won- because they didn’t have any backup players, so when they took a break and came back it was all the same people and by that time they knew the American team back and forth-”

“Look, John,” Molly interrupted. “That’s… fascinating. But didn’t you want to talk?”

John fell silent. His arms, which had been gesticulating wildly in a show of what the players had been doing, dropped to his lap awkwardly.

Molly rubbed his shoulder. “Look, John,” she began. “Whatever it is, it’s not like I’m going to judge you, or anything. Whatever happened between you and Sherlock-”

“He’s got himself a ruddy date,” John grumbled, unable to keep himself from saying it any longer. “And- and I don’t know _why_ I’m so mad about it, but I am- and now he hates me, I just know it. I mean, did you _see_ him in Transfiguation? Did you see the look he gave me? It was like just seeing me made his stomach turn over. And he’s not here at practise like he always is because he’s up at the castle having _dinner_ with that _Adler-_ ”

“Adler?” Molly interrupted, suddenly. “What about Adler?”

“He’s having dinner with her,” John grumbled. “He told me he’d asked her to ‘spend time with him’, and that she’d asked him to dinner, and the git said yes.”

“Oh.”

To John’s amazement, Molly looked… crushed.

Oh, of course. She liked Sherlock, didn’t she? Well, how could she not? With his stupid perfect hair and stupid handsome face. And that brilliant mind of his- it was a wonder that half the school wasn’t constantly at his feet, at his beck and call.

John was, wasn’t he?

“Oh my god,” he breathed, as the bludgers above ran into each other with a particularly brutal smack.

“What?” Molly demanded.

“Molly, I…” John gave a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe it, I’ve been so _stupid._ ”

“What are you talking about, John?”

“Sherlock!”

“What about him?”

“I… I like him.”

“Of course you do, you’re best friends. John, what are you on about?”

“No, no, I mean… I mean I _like_ him.”

“You like him? You mean- _like him_ like him?” Molly raised an eyebrow. “We’re not second years, John- you know what a _Muffliato_ spell is just as well as I do.” She smirked.

John ignored the beet red blush that was spreading to his cheeks. “What, you want me to say it?” Really? Molly wanted him to tell her _explicitly_ that he liked the boy she liked?

“Go on.” Molly crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly.

“Ugh, _fine._ ” John huffed. “You’re a terrible friend.”

“Hush, you love me.”

“Pfft. You wish.” John sighed. “Fine. Fine, you get your wish. I like Sherlock bloody Holmes, are you happy?”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Come on, John, you can do better than that.”

John opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again. Molly’s smug smile fell, and she inched closer to him.

“…John?”

“Sorry.” John shook his head. “I just… I dunno. This is weird.”

“What, liking someone?”

“Not just that.” John sighed.  “I mean. I don’t think I’ve ever, you know. _Liked_ anyone this much before. And I’ve never liked a guy before, either.”

Molly blinked. “You don’t… have a problem with that. Do you?”

Startled, John sat up. “No!” he said, looking at Molly. “I don’t- no, that’s not it. I mean, I’m fine with that, with other people- just. Not _me,_ ever.”

“John,” Molly said, gently.

“ _What?”_

“It’s fine.”

“What?”

“Look, no one cares.” She shrugged. “Who you like is your business, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I guess so.”

“And you can find a label if you _really_ want to, but you don’t have to. You can just like whoever you like, right?”

John thought. “I’d never… thought of it like that before,” he admitted.

Molly beamed and pressed a kiss to his temple. He chuckled.

“So,” she egged on, “say it?”

“Oh, fine.” John sat back in the chair, putting his feet up on the chair in front of him. “I… love Sherlock Holmes.”

“No, no, not _that._ ” Molly punched his arm. “You love him, yeah, but you always have. Just like you love me.”

“No, but that’s different,” John protested.

“How?” Molly teased.

“It’s different because… because I love you, yeah. But I think I’m more of… _in love_ with him.”

“There you go.” Molly patted him on the head. “Aw, I’m so proud of you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Hey, you hungry? If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss dinner.”

“Mmm, starving.”

o0O0o

_“Headmistress Langtree,” the deputy headmaster, Professor Monday, began, “would like to make a few announcements regarding the few schedule changes we will be implementing this year.” With the nod of his head, Headmistress Langtree stood and addressed the school._

_“Good evening to you all- welcome back, returning students, and to all of those joining us for the first time, I do hope you find this feast to be a delicious one.”_

_There was a smattering of enthusiastic applause- the headmistress was appreciated, but most of the students were eager to get on with their meals._

_“Now, as I’m sure many of your parents have told you, the Ministry has changed their minds on what constitutes an appropriate number of school days within a year. And as a result, we now have an extra five days added to our calendar.”_

_A chorus of ‘boo’s and groans filled the Great Hall, and John joined in wholeheartedly. Across the room, he saw Sherlock sit up a little straighter, eyes twinkling._

_“However,” Langtree continued, “The staff and I have agreed that our schedule has been more than efficient for the past hundred or so years since its last change, and so we will be making no move to add another five days of curriculum.”_

_Another round of applause. Sherlock, John was amused to see, had slumped back in his seat._

_“So in light of our new five days, we have elected to implement a new school holiday.”_

_Several students cheered._

_“As many of you know, the Yule Ball is a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament- and to nip this in the bud,_ no _, the tournament will not be taking place this year- oh, hush, I wish it was just as much as I’m sure most of you do.” Langtree smiled. “But I digress. The Yule Ball is a traditional dance, and as it is reserved to the Triwizard Tournament, we cannot ourselves introduce a Christmas dance to the school.”_

_Confused muttering._

_“So, as we have a Halloween feast and Christmas break, the staff and I have agreed to include one more week of holiday in February.”_

_This announcement was met with an even mixture of excited mumbling and exasperated groans. Of course, Valentine’s day. As if this school couldn’t get even more-_

_“There is no required dress for this event- and yes, there will be a dance, we tried to get the Sphynx Smashers here but they were booked into the last_ century- _and it is by invitation only. To receive an invitation, write your name down on the list outside of my office- or write another’s, if you’re feeling lucky.” Langtree smiled. “The dance will be on the Saturday preceding the 14 th, and the following week  will be free of classes.”_

_Cheers, now, from nearly every student. Barring Sherlock, of course, who looked as if he’d just gotten a letter from his brother._

_“Let the feast begin!”_

_The tables swelled with food, the room erupted into excited chatter, and John began his sixth year at Hogwarts._

o0O0o

The week leading up to the dance was hellish. Sherlock still refused to so much as talk to John, and whenever he caught his eyes, John was met with a stare usually reserved for Azkaban prisoners.

It was ridiculous.

The first few days, John had felt guilty- incredibly so. But when the third day of avoiding the Slytherin crawled by, John had had enough. They were friends, weren’t they? First and foremost, before John’s feelings. They were friends, and they cared about each other. Or, at least, John cared about Sherlock. And if he was dating another girl, then… then John was just going to have to live with it.

On Friday, he cornered Sherlock in the library instead of going to Potions- because it was Sherlock’s free period and he knew Sherlock wouldn’t expect him to skip.

To his credit, Sherlock didn’t even look up from his book as John approached the study corner.

John set his bag down on the floor beside him and tugged a chair over from another table. He sat, staring at Sherlock expectantly. When about ten or fifteen seconds had passed, he broke.

“Sherlock,” he started.

Sherlock did nothing.

“Look.” He sighed. “I’m sorry about what I said. About Adler.”

Sherlock glanced over the edge of his book.

“It’s none of my business who you date,” John continued, staring at the table. “And- and I just wanted to say that- um. That you should ask her to the, uh. Dance. Thing.”

Sherlock met his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that,” John scoffed. “I talked to Molly about some things-”

Sherlock lifted the book up, effectively blocking himself from view.

“ _I talked to Molly about some things,_ ” John repeated, “and she said I’d been a real tit. So. I’ve come here to apologise.”

Still nothing.

John stood. “You know what? Fine.” He picked his bag up and slung it over his shoulder moodily. “I’m just trying to be a good friend, Sherlock, but you’re not giving me anything. I don’t know what I did wrong to make you so mad at me, but I’m _sorry,_ all right? I just…” He sighed. “You’re my best friend, all right? And I want to keep it that way.” He gave a smile, just in case Sherlock deemed him worthy of his gaze again. “You’re my friend,” he repeated. “And I care about you, idiot.”

Sherlock peered over his book once more, carefully, but didn’t say anything. John sighed.

“Right. Well. I’ll just.” He turned to leave, but-

“Wait.”

Sherlock had set his book down and was rummaging in his bag, hurriedly. John frowned.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock said nothing more, but pulled out a small box. It was wrapped in bright red paper and tied with a black ribbon. He put it on the table and slid it forward, then crossed his arms. “For you,” he muttered.

“For… me?”

“Yes. As an… apology.”

“Oh.” John took the box. It was smaller than his hand, and weighed about as much as his wand.

Sherlock didn’t meet his eyes.

“Thank you.” John smiled. “I’ll see you in Transfiguration after lunch, yeah?”

“Hmm.” Sherlock picked his book up again, burying his face into it.

Good enough for John.

o0O0o

John spent the rest of his now-free-period debating whether or not to open the box. After perhaps ten minutes of debating, he retreated to the Gryffindor common room and tugged off the black ribbon. He ripped the red paper off- Sherlock would have folded it, he thought absently to himself- and saw-

A box of Honeydukes sweets. More specifically, a carefully cut square of nougat, a block of coconut ice, a few individually wrapped toffees, and three little chocolates in their frilled paper trays.

John saved the toffees for last, intending to keep them until the next day, but ended up eating them along with the rest of the lot.

o0O0o

Transfiguration flew by on gilded wings.

Molly was his partner again, of course, but Sherlock seemed to be staring at him an awful lot. So much so that even Molly noticed it.

“So, you talked to him?” she prompted, as they copied down the proper incantation for turning feather dusters into roosters.

“Yeah- I mean, I think so.” John shrugged. “Wasn’t much of a talk. I apologised for being a dick, and he seemed… okay. Said he was sorry, too.”

“Well, that’s that, then, isn’t it?” Molly asked. “You’re all sorted, then?”

“I don’t know.” John shrugged. “He gave me some sweets as a gift, but since then I haven’t talked to him. I mean, he’s been looking at me a lot, but not much else besides that.”

“He gave you sweets?” Molly repeated, weakly.

“Uh. Yeah.” John frowned. “Why?”

“No reason,” Molly said, waving the question away hurriedly. “Just- odd. He, uh, doesn’t seem like the gift giving type.” Her ears began to burn red, and John was about to ask her exactly what that was supposed to mean when-

“Everyone stand and practice the wand movement- _no incantations,_ remember, _just_ the movements!” Hollen yelled at the class, and John had no choice but to follow suit and abandon the conversation.

o0O0o

“You’ve no right.”

“Oh, of course I do. You don’t think I’ve looked this sort of thing up a hundred times-”

“I do- I know you have. But that still doesn’t make it _right.”_

“Relax, it’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.”

“You might hurt him, won’t you?”

“I won’t. And even if I do, he’ll never know it was me.”

“He might.”

“Please. He hasn’t got the brains.”

A pointed cough.

“Sorry. But you know what I meant.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Darling, really. Relax. Everything will be fine. Tonight will go perfectly- I diluted it just enough to make the reaction delayed.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course you can. It weakens the effect, of course. But if you charm it, you can make the effects stave off for a little while.”

“Wow. That’s incredible. But. You sure it won’t hurt him?”

“Positive.”

“I hope you’re right.”

John slammed a stack of books down on the table- his detention for skipping Charms had consisted of sorting through all the returned books and reshelving them. The sound interrupted the two girls’ conversation, both of whom jumped at the sound.

“John!” Molly greeted, turning beet red. “I- um. Didn’t think you were here.”

“Ah. Watson, is it?” the other girl greeted. Ivory hair, kept up in a perfect bun, just a curl out of place. Dress shirt undone down to the third button. Skirt hitched up just enough to show without catching a teacher’s attention.

“Adler,” John greeted.

“If you don’t mind,” Adler purred, “I believe Molly and I were having a rather private conversation.”

John looked to Molly, whose gaze fell to the floor.

“I have to put these books back,” he said, shrugging. “So, if you wouldn’t mind taking your conversation somewhere else…?”

“Oh, but of course,” Adler replied, nodding. “Molly, let’s go to the _restricted section._ ”

o0O0o

That was it. Adler was planning something, she was going to hurt Sherlock- wasn’t she?

The dance was in a little less than a day away and John had to do something. What had they been talking about? Delayed reaction? Diluted? Had she given Sherlock a potion? What was it? Poison?

Why would she want to poison Sherlock?

No, no, no, that wasn’t it. John tapped his foot against the floor, ignoring the buzz of the rest of the Gryffindors, all of whom were gossiping and chattering about the dance. He couldn’t get his mind off of Adler- what did she want with Sherlock, anyway?

He fell asleep that night and dreamt of Sherlock dressed up in Adler’s clothes, complete with the skirt and unbuttoned shirt.

o0O0o

He couldn’t find Sherlock anywhere- nor Adler or Molly, for that matter- the day of the dance. The school was abuzz with excitement. Students were awarded extra credit for helping to decorate the Great Hall and the rest of the hallways using whatever spells they’d learned in class- John earned seven points by conjuring up a quick _Protego_ as another student’s levitating charm had gone awry.

But there was no sign of Sherlock.

This wasn’t good. Not at all. He couldn’t find Molly anywhere- and the Hufflepuff was usually easy to spot, despite her mousy appearance. Adler hadn’t made an appearance, either.

As the hours crawled by and the Great Hall eventually became closed off to all but the teachers and the prefects, the excitement swelled, and as the final few minutes before the dance approached, John realized that he hadn’t written his name down on the invitation list.

Oh, damn it. It was probably too late, now. What was the use of hanging around the entrance doors, anyway?

“Oh, there you are!”

John turned to see Molly, in a sunshine yellow dress, jogging down the hallway.

“Molly?”

“I thought you’d gone back to the common room, but the Fat Lady wouldn’t let me in- and then she said you weren’t in there, anyway, and I didn’t know where else to look, but-”

“Molly.”

Molly stopped short. “What?”

“Where’s Sherlock?”

“Um.”

“And where’s Adler?”

“Irene’s- um.” Molly reddened. “Look, I just needed to find you to make sure you went in.”

“In? To the dance?” John shook his head. “My name’s not on the list, Molly.”

“Oh, no, it is.” Molly took his hand. “I wrote it on.”

“You _what?_ ”

Right on cue, the doors swung open, revealing the ice themed Valentine’s Day Dance.

“Come on, John!” Molly pushed him inside, and they were swept into the Great Hall, amid the waves of other students. The floor was enchanted as if it were ice, lit from below by what appeared to be fairies- only there were hundreds of them, all with different colors. The light glowed through the floor and up to the ceiling, lighting the whole room up with color. Icicles hung from the sky, carrying candles and flowers, as they caught the light and reflected it further. Small circular plates of ice carried around different hors d’oeuvres, which ranged from tiny chocolate and strawberry pastries to full sized bowls of soup, complete with sandwiches.

The teachers were all sat at their tables- though John suspected a few of them would join in the dancing sooner or later- and on the wall facing the window was a stage.

“Is that the _Kelpie Killers?_ ” John roared over the noise of what seemed like the entire school pouring into the hall.

“I think so,” Molly shouted back. She looked at the door. “I have to go-”

“Wait, what?” John held onto her arm, keeping her from leaving. “Molly, you can’t just _leave_ me here, I don’t- I want to be here-”

“I’m sorry, John, I can’t say anything else- just- I have to go!” She tugged her arm out of his hand, turned, and ran. John blinked, and she had disappeared into the mass of the crowd.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself. Now he was all alone, in the stupid hall, with absolutely no reason to be there.

At least the music was decent.

He wandered over to the table by the windows, which held a selection of foods and drinks- in case the flying plates didn’t have enough to satisfy- and plucked off a few sweets from the dessert end.

It occurred to him, then, that the doors to the Great Hall were still standing, and if he liked, he could simply walk through them.

“I don’t want to go,” he found himself muttering.

Strange. He’d said the same thing to Molly, just then. Hadn’t he?

“Yes, I did,” he said to himself, answering his own question.

He took a bite out of the butterbeer brownie to keep his mind off of the oddity, and found that it was actually quite good. He had to pay a visit to the house elves one of these days- Molly had always been pestering him to go, but he’d never wanted. No, they deserved a bit of recognition.

“John.”

John spun around. The brownie in his hand dropped to the floor.

Sherlock was standing in front of him, dressed in his ‘nice’ robes- of course the git had packed a nice set of robes- and staring at him.

“Uh,” John said.

Sherlock looked… nervous.

“Sherlock, you okay?”

“Perfectly fine.”

“Right. Because I don’t think you are.” And normally, John would have kept that to himself. But something gave him the urge to let it be known, simply because… well, because it was true.

“Hm.” Sherlock looked to the side, then back at John. “John, I needed to. Ask you something.”

“Ask away.”

“Before I do, I need to tell you something.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Adler and I- _Irene_ and I, I should say.”

“I have a problem with it,” John blurted, before he could stop himself. “I- I- I didn’t mean to say that,” he said, honestly. “I meant to say I didn’t- I, um.”

“Quite all right.” Sherlock held a hand up. “You’ve no need to worry.”

“I think I do.”

“Irene and I aren’t dating.”

John blinked.

“I asked her to talk to me because I needed her assistance with something.”

“Wait, wait.” John held up a finger. “Say that again.”

“What? That Irene and I aren’t dating?”

“ _Yes._ ” John looked at the ceiling, smiling widely. “God, that’s good to hear.”

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. “Right. Well. Now that’s out of the way.” He coughed. “I don’t want to get between you and Molly, but-”

“Oh, I’m not dating Molly,” John said instantaneously.

Sherlock frowned. Really frowned. Not his ‘you’re annoying me’ frown, but his ‘something is wrong here’ frown.

“Sherlock?” John asked.

“I have to go.” Sherlock took a step back. “This isn’t working.”

“What do you mean?” John asked, thoroughly confused, now. “Sherlock, _I’m telling the truth._ ”

“You aren’t. That’s the problem.”

“What are you on about?”

“It didn’t work- John, I have to go.”

“What didn’t-”

And then John knew. Adler _had_ been talking about a potion, hadn’t she? The delayed reaction, it had been delayed until right now. And he’d bloody eaten it.  Merlin, he’d been such an idiot.

“You slipped me a potion!” he yelled, pointing at Sherlock. “You bloody git- how could you?”

“John-”

“What the hell- why would you do that?” John was beyond angry, now. “That’s bloody cliché- you, slipping a damn love potion into my chocolates. How long’s been that been going on, hmm? You been spiking my pumpkin juice, too?”

“John.”

“I can’t believe you. Adler’s been in on this the whole time, hasn’t she? And what about Molly? I heard her talking with Adler about it- she must know, too.”

“John, it wasn’t a love potion.”

“I’m going to _murder-_ what?”

Sherlock stared at the floor, stood in place. John frowned.

“What do you mean, it wasn’t a love potion?”

“John, how do you feel about me?”

“I’m in love with you,” John said, instantaneously, then turned beet red. “See? See, I was bloody right.”

“Were you and Molly ever dating?”

“Well, no,” John said, shrugging. “What’s that got to do with-”

“How do you think Anderson is as a captain?”

“Pretty good, he knows his stuff and he’s won us more matches than we’ve won in ages since he became captain, but he’s also a dick to Donovan- hang on, what are you doing?”

“What color socks are you wearing right now?”

“Blue and black, why-”

“Are you wearing the red pants you keep in the back of your suitcase?”

“No, I save them for when I’m on a date- Sherlock!”

“Don’t you _see,_ John?”

John stamped his foot down. “No, I don’t see! And I’m not getting any closer to seeing, not with you being all aloof with your deductions and your voice and all that stuff that makes me-”

“John, that was Veritaserum.”

“-think of all the ways I could- what?”

“A truth potion.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “Diluted so that unless prompted, the drinker wouldn’t notice its affects. And delayed so that it wouldn’t take effect until tonight. Until now.”

“A… truth potion.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t… exactly plan it. I needed help.”

o0O0o

_“I need your help.”_

_“My, my, my. What do we have here?” Irene smiled over at the Slytherin boy. “Tall, dark, and handsome. And, if I’m not mistaken, intelligent to boot.” She picked off bits of the feast onto her plate. “What do you want?”_

_“Watson,” Holmes said, immediately._

_Irene raised an eyebrow. “I can make that happen.”_

_“You can.”_

_“Oh, yes. It’ll take a little bit of time, of course. And I’ll need something in return.”_

_“There’s always a catch.”_

_“Hmm.” Irene poured some tomato soup into a bowl, watched the steam rise. “Make the restricted section open for me, Friday evening before the dance. That happens, and all your dreams come true.”_

_“What are you going to do?” Holmes asked, obviously skeptical._

_“Give him a little boost. Nothing like a love potion, of course. As if that’s ever worked out for anyone.”_

_Holmes sneered. “Obviously.”_

_“No, I’ll make sure to keep an eye on him. Find him at the dance and he’ll be yours, Holmes. I promise.”_

_Holmes looked unsure. “Just for the dance.”_

_“Oh, no, no.” Irene smiled sweetly. “I’ll make sure he never leaves your side again.”_

_Holmes seemed satisfied with this. “Friday evening, the restricted section will be yours,” he agreed._

_She held out a hand, and he took it._

_“Deal.”_

o0O0o

“You had to bribe Adler into giving you Veritaserum,” John said, staring.

“Yes,” Sherlock muttered, reluctantly.

“Because you wanted to ask me out.”

Sherlock scowled. “Yes.”

“And you couldn’t just have… oh, I dunno. Asked me out?”

“The risk factor regarding rejection was far too high,” Sherlock retorted. “And besides. You were infatuated with Hooper.”

John laughed. “For the last time, Sherlock, _no._ Though I think she’s got her eye on you.”

Sherlock snorted. “As if.” At John’s questioning look, he nodded to the center of the room.

Molly and Irene were dancing together. Molly’s sunshine yellow dress was nearly touching Irene’s inky blue one- as if the day and the night were colliding. As they danced together, they had eyes only for each other- and as Irene swept Molly down in a dip and bent down to kiss her, John forced himself to look away.

“Right,” he said, reddening. “So.”

“So, indeed,” Sherlock agreed.

“So, when’s this stuff wear off?” John asked.

“Unsure,” Sherlock admitted. “By the end of the night, at the very latest.”

“Okay.”

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, before the music decided to cascade up into some form of dance that John had never heard of. All the third and fourth years seemed to love it, jumping up and down as the drums blasted out the beat.

John began to feel slightly older.

“If you want,” Sherlock murmured, leaning in so that only he and John could hear, “I know somewhere we can go.”

“God, yes,” John said, taking Sherlock’s hand.

They ran out of the hall- not before John grabbed another brownie from the table- and into the deserted hallways. Sherlock ran to the nearest staircase, which promptly detached itself from the hall.

“Excuse me,” Sherlock said, in the politest tone John had ever heard him use. “Could you take us to the seventh floor, please?”

The staircase groaned as it turned and rose up, up, up. John clutched the railings as it began to move, but Sherlock’s arm slid around his waist and, well, that just made everything better, now, didn’t it?

The staircase rumbled to a stop right at the seventh floor, and he and Sherlock hopped off.

“Thank you,” Sherlock told it, and it sank back down to the ground floor, seemingly satisfied.

“I had no idea you could _do_ that,”  John said, watching the staircase lower itself down.

“Trial and error,” Sherlock said, shrugging. “Politeness is usually very useful when dealing with magical artifacts- barring, of course, witches and wizards.”

John snorted.

“Follow me,” Sherlock instructed, leading him to the inside corridor. “It’s not much, but it’s untraceable.”

“ _What_ is?”

“This.”

They had come to a stop by a completely blank stretch of wall.

“Um.”

Sherlock was staring at it intently.

“Sherlock?”

“Quiet, John, I’m trying to concentrate. This worked, last time.”

“Right.” John looked at the wall. “Well, it doesn’t seem to be working, right now.”

“I can see that,” Sherlock muttered. “Obviously. There’s no door.” He began to pace manically. “I have to be missing something- this worked, last time, I don’t know what I’m doing differently.”

“Sherlock?”

“I said quiet,” Sherlock hissed. “I’m concentrating. There has to be something.”

“No, Sherlock. Look.”

“ _What,_ John?” Sherlock snapped, looking over at him, and-

A door had appeared in the wall, just high enough for John to reach.

“Is this what you meant to do?” John looked at Sherlock, crossing his arms.

“Precisely.” Sherlock put a hand on the door and pushed it open. John headed inside. “As I said, it’s not much,” Sherlock repeated. “But I hope there’s enough space to-”

“Sherlock,” John said, staring around at the room that had materialized. “Shut up.”

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed, and oh, no, he was going to- “Fascinating, this is _fascinating,_ I understand now. It acclimates itself to whatever you ask it for; I must have asked it for a space for us to share- perhaps it adds elements if you ask for them while already in the room-”

“ _Sherlock,_ ” John repeated, gigging a little. “Shut up.”

“John, you don’t understand, this is a room of infinite possibilities- though of course that brings up the question of whether or not anything in here can be taken out into the castle-”

Exasperated, John took Sherlock’s head in his hands and pulled him down into a kiss.

o0O0o

“Do you think they’ve sorted it out?” Molly worried, as Irene held her down for another dip. “Oh, my, you’re good at that.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Irene said, tugging her up and twirling her. “You did marvelously.”

“Oh, I didn’t like lying to John.” Molly sighed. Irene pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“You didn’t have to lie to him,” Irene said, gently. “Did you?”

Molly thought. “Oh.” She blinked. “No, I… no.” She smiled. “I didn’t.”

“See, now, you’ve got nothing to feel bad about.” Irene pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You did well.”

“But do you think they’re all right?” Molly pressed.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Irene wrapped her arms around Molly’s neck, rocking them back and forth with the music. “Didn’t you notice? They left ten minutes ago.”

Molly glanced around the Great Hall, looking for a sign of either boy, but found neither.

“I wonder what it’ll take to get that mind of yours off of them,” Irene purred, before pressing her lips to Molly’s neck.

“We- Irene, we’re in public,” Molly hissed, turning pink.

“Oh, yes, we are,” Irene agreed. “Care to dance?”

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Molly's in Sherlock and John's Transfiguration class for some reason. Even though that would mean there are three houses in one class. Idk roll with it
> 
> All the mentioned Quidditch tactics Anderson talks about are taken from the book "Quidditch Through the Ages."
> 
> As always, please give kudos if you enjoyed and leave a comment if you liked it/found any tytytpptos (all typos are mine, I have no beta)
> 
> edit: i just noticed that even though molly's in Hufflepuff she's also inexplicably on the gryffindor quidditch team *falls over*
> 
> Thanks for reading and happy valentine's day!


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